


I Travelled All This Way (To Tell You I Loved You)

by JaskierOfRivia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: Jaskier competes in the annual bardic competition in Vizima every year, but he has to part from Geralt to do so (monsters wait for no Witcher, after all). And he has a real shot at winning it this year, finally. He's not passing THAT up.But Geralt is full of surprises, and sometimes even Jaskier isn't expecting them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 226





	I Travelled All This Way (To Tell You I Loved You)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writing Corner discord bingo event #1, for the prompt "You came all this way... for me?"

This certainly wasn’t the first time Jaskier had entered the annual bardic competition in Vizima, the capital city of Temeria. Far from it. The first time he’d entered, he’d actually been booed off stage, and it had been a few years before he was brave enough to come back. He didn’t want the memory of his embarrassing failure to be fresh in the minds of the people and the judges, and he needed new songs before he could even come _close_ to placing, let alone winning.

Of course, by the time Jaskier had returned, he’d met Geralt of Rivia, and having a vast array of material and well known songs certainly helped his chances. He wasn’t laughed off stage anymore, and no one threw anything at him, foodstuffs or otherwise. For the first few years, however, Jaskier wasn’t as famous as he would’ve liked, and so he didn’t even place. He made some good coin, though, enough that he could pay his own way when he eventually reunited with Geralt and they resumed travelling together. (Jaskier knew that Geralt would pay for him if necessary, seemingly begrudgingly, but Jaskier _hated_ making him do that. It was hard enough for Geralt to earn and keep enough coin for himself, let alone a second person).

On his more recent returns to Vizima for the competition, however, things had started to change. Jaskier was well known across the Continent now, with heads turning and whispers following him wherever he went. He made some serious coin when playing in smaller inns in the lead up to the bardic competition, trying to drum up support and increase his chances. And then Jaskier had finally started to place (the look on Valdo Marx’s face when Jaskier had beaten him for the first time was definitely a career highlight). Last year Jaskier had even come _third,_ for crying out loud. This could be Jaskier’s year. He wasn’t missing it for the world.

This unfortunately meant that Jaskier had been forced to part from Geralt, his muse and Witcher extraordinaire, before he’d headed for the competition. Jaskier of course had headed for Vizima, whereas Geralt had headed off to complete a contract in Ellander. He’d been specifically requested, considering Nenneke, a priestess of Melitele and a dear friend of Geralt’s, made her home in a temple there. There was no way Geralt was going to turn down this contract, not when whatever the creature was could put Nenneke and her priestesses in danger. So Geralt and Jaskier had gone their separate ways for the first time in months, promising to meet up as soon as they were both done with their business. Jaskier would head towards Ellander when he left Vizima, and Geralt would head for Vizima, and they’d meet somewhere in the middle.

Jaskier couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Geralt wasn’t coming to Vizima with him. He understood, of course; Nenneke had helped Geralt time and time again when he’d been recovering from serious wounds, and this was an opportunity to earn a significant amount of money that Geralt couldn’t afford to pass up. And Jaskier had been able to tell from the way that _Geralt_ had reacted when they parted, like he wanted- wanted _something_ else, Jaskier wasn’t sure exactly what- wanted to stay with Jaskier, at the very least.. Wanted to go to Vizima with him. But Geralt needed the coin, and a dear friend needed his help, and so he had to go.

Anyway, Geralt and Jaskier weren’t joined at the hip, or anything. They didn’t _have_ to travel together all the time. They didn’t. They parted all the time, when their professions necessitated it.It _had_ gotten harder and harder, Jaskier admitted to himself (not to Geralt, though. Never to Geralt). Especially since- since the _incident._ Since they’d found each other again, and Geralt had actually sincerely _apologised_ , and had started being _sweet_ with Jaskier. Jaskier had always wanted Geralt to attend the bardic competition, too. He had this feeling, or hope, or whatever it was, that Geralt wanted to attend the competition and watch Jaskier, just as much as Jaskier wanted him to be there.

One year. One day.

Jaskier had been a lot more mopey and morose than he normally would be or that he would’ve liked when he finally arrived in Vizima. The city was loud and colourful and brash and refined and _beautiful_ , the type of place that Jaskier would’ve loved living in in another life. People lived in the lap of luxury here, beautiful people with beautiful clothing and beautiful things. That was something that Jaskier could enjoy in flashes, in bits in pieces, maybe in the winter or when visiting old friends. But that wasn’t _him_ , not in this lifetime. He was a nomad, and that was what he loved. He loved a traveller’s lifestyle. He loved the adventure, the stories, the fact that he had no idea what a new day would bring. He loved-

Well. He loved. And a life in the lap of luxury meant that Jaskier would have had too much love to give and not enough people or places or things to give it to. Not to mention the sheer _boredom_ Jaskier knew he would’ve felt. He remembered his childhood all too well. There were many reasons why Jaskier’s childhood was not at all fun, and this was one of them.

Jaskier sighed, rather dramatically considering he was alone, and pulled his thick black cloak closer to his body. The temperature all around the Continent was starting to drop, the air cool, the wind almost biting. It had been raining often and hard, but luckily for Jaskier there wouldn’t be any more rain for another few days. It hadn’t started snowing yet, but it would soon. Winter was fast approaching, after all.

Jaskier ducked quickly into the inn that all the performers were staying at, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding when he noticed that Valdo Marx wasn’t there. Whether he was in his room, hadn’t arrived yet, or wasn’t coming at all (unfortunately unlikely), Jaskier didn’t know or care. He just couldn’t be bothered dealing with his rival right now.

Flagging down the barkeep, Jaskier ordered a glass of Est Est wine and a hearty beef stew, planting himself in the middle of a group of fellow performers and leaving no room for certain latecomers to get anywhere near him. Jaskier talked and ate and laughed and flirted, although his alluring smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Jaskier thought he’d be delighted when one of his fellow performers, a young woman he’d seen at the competition before that he was pretty sure was actually from Temeria, moved closer to him, draping her arm over his shoulder and whispered in his ear, her hair tickling the sensitive skin on his neck. She kissed his cheek, her fingertips dancing up and down his thigh. Jaskier shivered, but not for the reason he usually did. Not for the reason he wanted to.

Jaskier sighed, putting his hand on top of the woman’s own to still it. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Not tonight. I’m just... not tonight.”

“Not in the mood?” the woman asked.

“Something like that,” Jaskier replied. She wasn’t wrong, just not for the reason that she was probably thinking. “Thought I was, but I’m not.”

“Is it nerves?” she said. “I know you came third last year. Word around Vizima and Temeria is that you’re a serious chance of winning this year.”

“It could be,” said Jaskier, not wanting to admit too much. He _did_ really want to win.

“Well I’m competing as well, so I’ll be around until after the competition. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. My name’s Evelyne.”

Jaskier nodded, offering the woman a small smile and a squeeze of her hand as she got up and walked away. Jaskier looked down at his cup of wine, suddenly wishing it was either a lot stronger or a lot more full. Instead of calling for a refill or for some ale, however, he set off in search of his room. Jaskier didn’t particularly want to run into Valdo Marx while he was wallowing in self-pity, and he could use that time much more efficiently preparing for the bardic competition. If what Evelyne said was true, Jaskier was a genuine chance of winning the competition this year. If he could practice, he could actually _win_. That was something Jaskier had been wanting for so very very long. Since before he’d met Geralt, even.

Filled with a renewed vigour, Jaskier hurriedly sought out the innkeeper, finding out which room was his and heading up there as fast as he could go. His lute was out of the case almost before the door was even closed, and he set about practicing the songs he was choosing between for the competition. The people of Temeria could be rather- well, _horrible_ when it came to monsters and magic, and any stories of Geralt’s exploits could definitely help improve Jaskier’s chances.

 _And besides,_ Jaskier thought to himself, _Geralt’s not here to hear any of the embellishments that I add to my songs. He may hear about them later, yes, but what he doesn’t know now will be too late for him to change. Not that I’d let him, anyway._

***

Come competition time several days later, Jaskier had painstakingly picked the song he planned to use, the one he best felt highlighted Geralt’s exploits, painting him as the hero and protector that saved the people from the evil monsters. It was no _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_ , of course, but it was an epic that Jaskier was immensely proud of.

Valdo Marx had eventually shown his smarmy, over-confident, awful face, but Jaskier had studiously ignored him. Not for the first time, Jaskier wished he _had_ been the djinn’s master, or at least imagined what the world would be like if he had. Jaskier and Valdo had never gotten along, and Jaskier knew they never would. Whenever he wormed his way into Jaskier’s presence, Jaskier was left with a disgusting taste in his mouth and a wish that he’d never even _heard_ the name Valdo Marx.

Not to worry. Jaskier would be able to deal with Valdo later, when- _if_ \- he won the bardic competition. Definitely. Maybe.

Jaskier was only dimly paying attention when the other performers went on stage. He paid slightly more attention when Evelyne was on stage, her chocolate-brown hair hanging in pretty waves down her back. Another day, another time, another _lifetime_ even, Jaskier would’ve spent the night with her when they met, and perhaps several nights since. He didn’t know what was _wrong_ with him. She was exactly the type of person Jaskier would normally have fallen madly in love with: beautiful, kind, gentle, with a lovely voice. But this time- now something was different. Jaskier didn’t know what was going on.

(Okay, maybe he did. But he wasn’t going to admit it. Didn’t want to. Never would. Not now. Not ever.)

When Valdo Marx took to the stage, Jaskier studiously avoiding looking anywhere but at him, pretending to make sure his lute was ready. He rehearsed his song in his head, about the first tone he’d been there when Geralt had defeated a type of vampire. (Admittedly Jaskier had been hiding for his own safety, but his audience didn’t need to know that.)

While Valdo performed, Jaskier though about Geralt, wondering what the Witcher would be doing at that very moment. Given that they’d been closer to Ellander than Vizima when they’d parted, Geralt would have arrived at his destination long before Jaskier had arrived at his own. He would’ve long since completed his contract then, whether it had been a simple one or incredibly difficult and dangerous. If he’d sustained any injuries, Nenneke would’ve treated them for him, perhaps also getting Geralt some herbs and other ingredients he needed for his potions and his stores. Presumably after that Geralt would take a few days to relax and rest and recover, because Nenneke was one of the few people that could _make_ Geralt do that. She was the only kind of mother figure he’d ever had, after all. And then Geralt would turn around and head back the way he came, towards Vizima, until his path crossed with Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier wondered dimly how far Geralt would get before they met again. Farther than Jaskier would, no doubt.

Cheering that was far louder than Jaskier would’ve liked indicated that Valdo Marx had finished performing, which means it was Jaskier’s turn. He tightened his grip on his lute and rose to his feet, waiting until the announcer said his name before heading for the stage. He refused to look at Valdo as he passed him, but he could feel his fellow troubadour’s eyes boring into him.

Valdo chuckled as he went. “You’ve got no fucking hope, Jaskier,” he muttered, just loud enough for Jaskier and no one else to hear him.

Jaskier just continued to ignore him. He knew Valdo was just trying to put him off. He also knew that Valdo was very, very wrong. This year was Jaskier’s year; he could feel it in his _bones._

A strange sense of warmth and calm washed over Jaskier, one he’d never felt while competing in this particular competition. He almost felt like he was invincible, like right now he could do anything, that he would have the audience eating out of the palm of his hand.

Jaskier reached the stage and bowed at the audience, his lute at the ready. “Esteemed guests,” he said, beaming. “My name is Jaskier, and this song is the story of how my muse, the Witcher Geralt, slew a fearsome vampire and stopped it from murdering an entire innocent village!”

(A highly embellished story, of course. But the audience didn’t need to know that.)

A cheer went up amongst the crowd (which made Valdo Marx scowl, much to Jaskier’s delight), which quietened instantly as soon as Jaskier arranged his fingers on the lute and began to play. He spun an epic tale, of how incredibly powerful, fearsome vampire had destroyed all who crossed his path until the White Wolf came along, tearing it to shreds. The vampire in Jaskier’s story had been one of the most powerful of its kind, but against the might of Geralt, it never stood a chance.

In reality, the vampire had been a fleder- still powerful, yes, and very dangerous- but were nowhere near as dangerous as other subspecies of vampires. In fact, several Witchers had been bested by higher species of vampires (Geralt of course was not amongst them, but he was often left severely battered and bruised and injured by these fights).

The crowd cheered again when Jaskier sang of the moment the beast was felled and the village was saved, and cheered louder still when Jaskier finished his song with a flourish, bowing exaggeratedly and waving to various people, including Valdo Marx. The other troubadour scowled again, his expression so murderous Jaskier was surprised it didn’t fell him where he stood.

Despite the reaction his song got, Jaskier was still incredibly nervous as the judges were deliberating. There were so many incredibly performers this year, Jaskier knew his chances were very, very slim. He knew even Valdo Marx had a chance; despite Jaskier’s constant knocks on his talent, he knew that other people had been hoodwinked into thinking Valdo Marx was actually a skilled bard.

As long as Jaskier placed higher than him. That was the main thing.

Finally the judges finished deliberating, and called all the performers back to the stage. To Jaskier’s utter dismay, Valdo Marx placed third. Jaskier could practically _feel_ Valdo’s disappointment at not winning, but he still smirked at Jaskier and ‘accidentally’ bumped him as he went past to accept his prize. Another day, another time, Jaskier would’ve said something, or possibly even punched him. But not now. There were more important things to worry about.

Evelyne placed second, but that didn’t surprise Jaskier. She was an exceptionally talented bard with a beautiful voice, and luckily the judges had recognised that. But this also meant that there was only one prize left, and Jaskier’s name still hadn’t been called out. He couldn’t do any worse than last year. Obviously. Surely.

Right?

“And the winner, with his truly epic song, is Jaskier!”

Jaskier almost went into shock when his name was read out. Despite all his posturing, despite his certainty that he was more talented than Valdo Marx and would place higher than him, he’d been so nervous and unsure. He’d been coming here year after year, absolutely determined to win. A part of Jaskier had honestly thought it would never happen. And now that it had… well. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

As Jaskier accepted his prize, which included a very sizeable coin purse (big enough to buy him a whole month in an inn or a dozen new outfits), he looked around the room at the crowd. Most of the room was on their feet, cheering for Jaskier, or at least raising their drinks in salute to his victory. Except for one person, one figure in the far corner of the room who had remained seated and completely silent. One very tall, very imposing figure, who was using his long, silver-white hair to hide his face, drinking from a mug of what Jaskier knew to be ale, with two scary-looking swords resting beside him. As if they could feel Jaskier’s gaze, the figure raised its head and fixed their golden eyes on him.

It was Geralt.

Completely ignoring everybody else around him, including an angry Valdo Marx and a congratulatory Evelyne, Jaskier pushed through the crowd, clutching his prize and his lute close. Eventually he reached Geralt’s table, placing the lute unceremoniously in front of him and staring at him with a hand on his hip. “You must have some review for me. Three words or less,” said Jaskier, trying not to sound completely and utterly delighted to see his best friend.

“Well done,” Geralt said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in what was as close to a grin as Geralt often managed.

“That’s better than I got the first time,” Jaskier laughed. He slid into the seat beside Geralt, without waiting to ask the Witcher if he could join him. Geralt just slid over, not arguing with Jaskier, eyeing off Jaskier’s hands and the prizes he held within them.

“Pretty big coin purse, huh?” Jaskier commented. “Enough to get us a room with two beds at an inn for the next month, plus extra to buy us new clothes and even some treats for Roach.” Geralt remained silent, still staring at Jaskier’s hands. “Or not…”

“One bed,” Geralt said finally, confusing Jaskier.

“What?”

“One bed,” Geralt repeated. “We don’t need two beds. One bed is fine. Don’t need to spend the money if we don’t have to.”

“I-” The completely sincere look on Geralt’s face, and that little half smile he often had, made Jaskier’s heart melt. “Fine. One bed. We’ll spend that extra money on a more _comfortable_ bed.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Geralt agreed.

The two of them fell into a companionable silence, Geralt sipping on his ale, and Jaskier trying to chase down the hundreds of thoughts flying through his head. Finally, one of the thoughts fought through to the surface, and Jaskier blurted out, “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not grateful, of course, but- you know, I wasn’t expecting it. I thought you’d still be in Ellander, spending more time with Nenneke.”

“I finished the contract rather quickly,” Geralt explained. “Most likely wasn’t something that a normal human couldn’t handle, of course, but still fairly easy for a seasoned Witcher. I was intending to stay a while, pick Nenneke’s brain, use the library, replenish my ingredient and potion stores, but Nenneke…” Geralt looked around the room, as if to make sure no one was listening in to them, before continuing. “I was _pining_ , according to her. She could tell there was somewhere else I’d rather be, so she shoved a bunch of ingredients into my hands and told me to get on the road to Vizima.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. Jaskier had a _hope_ building in his heart, but still… he wasn’t sure. He needed to hear the words from Geralt’s mouth.

“I’m saying I _missed_ you, Jaskier,” Geralt said finally, looking anywhere but in Jaskier’s eyes. “I’m saying I wanted to be here, to see you perform and compete, and Nenneke realised that. So here I am.”

“So you came all this way… for me?” Jaskier said, feeling a tingling warmth coming from his heart and spreading through his entire body.

“I did,” Geralt confirmed. As if possessed by some sudden desire or instinct, Geralt reached out and took Jaskier’s free hand in his own. He squeezed it, running his thumb back and forth over the back of Jaskier’s hand. “I want…” Geralt trailed off, as if not sure what he wanted to say or how to say it.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier whispered, squeezing Geralt’s hand back, shifting closer to him as if to block him from the rest of the room. “I know this type of thing is hard for you. Take as long as you need.”

Geralt fell silent for the longest time, still running his thumb over the back of Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s skin felt like it was on fire where Geralt touched him, like he was casting Igni upon Jaskier’s skin. It was _wonderful_ , as infrequent as Geralt’s touch could be, and Jaskier found himself wishing that Geralt would touch him all the time, in any way he would.

Just when Jaskier thought the moment had passed, that Geralt had lost the words and withdrawn into his own head again, Geralt opened his mouth. “I didn’t know it was possible for me to miss someone as much as I miss you when we’re apart, for me to- to _feel_ as much as I do about you. Before you I thought it was impossible for me to- to-” Geralt stammered, tongue twisted, having used more words and more emotion in one go than he normally used to in a year.

Geralt looked down at his hand intertwined with Jaskier’s, up to Jaskier’s face, and back down again. While his expression was kept as neutral as it always was, Geralt’s brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to decide what his next move should be.

“Geralt?”

“I want- ah, fuck it.” Before Jaskier even realised what was happening, Geralt kissed him. Geralt’s lips were rough and unsure and practiced, and the kiss was sloppy and hurried, but it was _Geralt_. In all their years of companionship, Jaskier had never actually expected anything like this. He’d wanted, yes. Oh how he’d _wanted_ , Jaskier freely admitted to himself for the first time. But to have Geralt come all this way just to watch him compete and then _kiss him_...

It was more than Jaskier ever imagined he would get.

It wasn’t until Geralt started pulling away that Jaskier realised with horror he wasn’t actually kissing Geralt back, stunned as he was. “Don’t you go anywhere, Mister White Wolf. Don’t think me not kissing you back means I didn’t want that or I didn’t enjoy it. I did. I really, really, _really_ did. I think I was so stunned I went into shock there a little bit.”

As if to prove his point, Jaskier tangled the hand that wasn’t holding Geralt’s into the top of the long hair at the back of the Witcher’s head, holding him close to Jaskier. Geralt remained silent, not making a move to break free of Jaskier’s grasp, but not doing much either, golden eyes flickering from Jaskier’s eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes again.

“Please say something Geralt. Before I start to wonder whether you’ve been cursed or something.”

“I was thinking about kissing you again,” Geralt admitted. “But really, I just want to make sure that you-”

“I feel the same way about you?” Jaskier finished, hearing the fear in Geralt’s voice, the hesitation, how close he is to backing off and just pretending that the whole thing never happened. “I do. Believe me. Did you see that girl that came second, Evelyne?”

Geralt looked over at Evelyne, who was sitting at a table with some other performers. He nodded hesitantly.

“The day I first arrived here, she, uh… she wanted to sleep with me,” Jaskier told him. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. All I could think about was you. Your lips, your body, your heart… you. I know I fall in love often and easily. But I never fall _hard_. Until you. So the fact that you left Nenneke and Ellander early, just to come and see me perform and _tell me this_ … it’s a literal dream come true.”

“Oh.” Geralt looked like he didn’t know what else to say- or maybe he did, but didn’t know how to say it. He kept staring at Jaskier’s lips as if he wanted to kiss him again, but before Jaskier could make a move himself, Geralt started furtively glancing around the room. The bard was hit by the sudden realisation that they were in _public_ , and anyone could see or hear them (including Valdo Marx). Which just made Geralt’s confession and subsequent kiss all the more monumental, really.

“Have you got a room?” Jaskier asked quietly. He knew a normal human wouldn’t be able to hear him, but Geralt’s Witcher hearing ensured that wouldn’t be a problem.

Geralt shook his head. “Only arrived this morning,” he admitted. “Haven’t had a chance to get one, and I gathered that might be a little difficult at the moment. I was kinda hoping…” he trailed off, gesturing at Jaskier.

“Since you came all this way for me, sharing a room with you is the least I can do. _Especially_ now,” he added, with a wink and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Come on.”

Jaskier rose to his feet, clutching his prizes and his lute as tightly as he could, Geralt following closely behind him with his swords in hand. On their way to their room, Jaskier and Geralt passed by Valdo Marx, who opened his mouth to say something to Jaskier that was probably incredibly rude. One murderous glance from Geralt was enough to put a stop to that however, and Jaskier laughed as Valdo slouched away.

“Oh, that was glorious,” Jaskier said. “That man deserves a good scare, amongst other things.”

“Valdo Marx doesn’t _look_ like someone you would wish dead,” Geralt commented, having of course seen Valdo for the first time when he’d claimed third place. “But then again, he doesn’t exactly seem like the best of people.”

“You can say rude arrogant bastard, Geralt, it’s okay.”

“Nah, that’s reserved for Lambert,” said Geralt, ignoring yet another bark of laughter from Jaskier.

When they reached Jaskier’s room, the bard shoved all his belongings into Geralt’s hands so he could fumble for his key. “I should warn you, Geralt, there is only one bed. Normally it wouldn’t matter so much, but considering we just kissed and confessed our feelings to each other, I feel like I should warn you. We don’t have to do anything tonight, of course- we have the rest of our lives for that- but I do like to cuddle. And I’ve long dreamed of falling asleep in your arms, using your strong chest as a pillow, and I-”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” said Geralt suddenly, his voice almost a growl, cutting Jaskier off. “There is nothing I’d like more.”

Jaskier blinked once, twice, then beamed. “Well in that case...”

Jaskier glanced around the corridor, making sure no one else was around, before putting his arms around Geralt’s waist and leaning in for another kiss. This one was softer and more sure than their first; a promise, both of what Jaskier felt and what was to come in their future. When Jaskier pulled away again, he saw a gleam in Geralt’s eyes that most other people wouldn’t have noticed, but Jaskier had grown to recognise throughout the years. It was pure happiness and joy, with no sadness or fear or apprehension behind it. And Jaskier had _put it there_.

“Let’s go inside the room before someone sees,” Geralt said, before Jaskier could do or say anything else. “Plus I’m still wearing my armour. You _could_ help me take it off…”

Geralt smirked, actually _smirked_ , and Jaskier couldn’t unlock the door fast enough. Geralt entered the room first, but stopped just inside the doorway, hesitating and glancing back at Jaskier.

“Geralt? What is it? Second thoughts? Because if you do, that’s okay, we can just-”

“No, Jaskier, that’s not it, I promise,” Geralt assured him. “It’s just… I love you.” And before Jaskier could respond, Geralt turned around and headed into the room, perhaps to stave off a negative reaction from Jaskier.

Jaskier stood, stunned and openmouthed, before quickly following after Geralt, locking the door behind him. Geralt came all this way for Jaskier, to watch him perform and kiss him and tell him he loved him. He had to tell Geralt he loved him too, but the rest of the inn didn’t need to see how he proved _that._

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on twitter [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia)


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